


The Tale of Gilbert the Unlucky

by LittleEnya



Series: The Path Of The Dragonborn (Gilbert’s Tale) [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: (sorta?) Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Imperial Nord Character, Love/hate relationships, M/M, Reluctant Hero, Sassy Dovahkiin, Skyrim Civil War, Slow Build, Slow Burn, There are two Dragonborns (excluding Miraak), Ulfric has mixed feelings, Violence, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14870993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleEnya/pseuds/LittleEnya
Summary: What started as a mission to bring his lost sister back home led to Gilbert almost losing his head to dragon fire and now bearing the prestigious title of Dragonborn. With the fate of the world hanging on his shoulder and the stress of having to choose a side in the civil war for a land he couldn’t bear to call home, Gilbert decided that being a hero of legend wasn’t what it’s all cracked up to be.





	The Tale of Gilbert the Unlucky

**Author's Note:**

> idk wtf this is  
> i just  
> im sorry  
> i was bored

The sun was placed high up in the sky when a horse stopped in front of the gate separating the borders between Cyrodiil and Skyrim. An Imperial soldier stood guard on top of the stone watchtower beside it, eyeing the cloaked figure below with suspicion as it trotted up to the gate. He walked down the spiral steps of the tower and towards the rider of the Dapple Grey stallion. Stopping in front of the horse, he drew his sword and pointed it at the figure. He took the time to observe the mysterious newcomer.

This one is a man, no doubt, if his considerable size and stature was anything to go by. He is wearing a simple white tunic and black trousers, which is a rather bad mixture in these dangerous times, the soldier noted distastefully, which only worsened when he noticed the lack of weapons on him. The cloak he is wearing overshadowed most of his features, but a few strands of golden hair sticked out like a sore thumb, which confirmed his suspicion that this one was a Nord, probably returning to his homeland.

“State your purpose, outsider.” He demanded, voice firm in his attempt to intimidate the mysterious man. The man didn’t reply for a second, only opening the bag that is hanging from the horse’s saddle and presenting a small sack. Hesitantly, the soldier took the bag and opened it, revealing a hefty amount of gold. He looked up at the man, stunned, and tried to give the bag back, but the man merely shook his head.

“It’s yours, now. Think of it as an entry fee.” The man said in a deep, clear voice, and the soldier took a moment to wonder if he is talking to a wandering merchant. Realizing he hasn’t replied yet, he ran up the tower with the bag jiggling between his hands and stuffed it into a chest. He went back down and proceeded to unlock the gate.

“Alright, head on inside, outsider. Welcome to—“ he was cut off as he pushed the gate half-way open when the man literally made his horse fly through the small opening, and the soldier is left staring at the fading figure of the man.

“—Skyrim.”

 

* * *

 

Gilbert looked up from his map and around the towering evergreens of Falkreath in awe, letting his horse slow down to a trot as he took the time to observe the settlement. It isn’t as grand as the cities he was use to, but he appreciated the coziness of the place and the beautiful landscape it provided. The glow of the setting sun created a gorgeous backdrop, and Gilbert deemed it inspiring enough to write a poem on someday.

He stopped near a much larger building with a sign that reads ‘Dead Man’s Drink’, pulling the reins of his horse to a halt. The horse neighed at him in annoyance, and he patted down the side of his spotted neck apologetically.

“Sorry there, Cornelius, but we’ll be stopping here for the night.” He mumbled at him as he hopped down to the ground. Cornelius whinnied a little before nipping at a strand of blonde hair sticking out of the man’s dark hood. Gilbert laughed and swatted the creature’s nose away, earning odd looks from the other bystanders. He paid them no mind as he petted Cornelius’ mane gingerly.

“Okay, okay! You’re hungry, I get it! I’ll go get us some food from the inn, so don’t gallop away without me.” He chided, giving the horse an exaggerated scowl, which was only met with a blank stare. He sighed and shook his head, amused at his companion’s antics, and proceeded to walk into the inn.

As soon as he opened the door, he was met with the smell of cheap ale, merry drunks, and delicious food. His stomach grumbled as he eyed the pot of stew near the cooking spit, and he shut the door behind him to prevent the cold air from seeping in. He scurried over to an empty stool on the counter and sat down. Almost immediately, he felt a few pairs of eyes burning at the back of his head, and he self-consciously pulled his hood tighter over his face.

“Need a drink?” Gilbert snapped his head up at the female voice, and his green eyes met the surprised brown eyes of an ageing Imperial woman. He looked down on the counter in embarrassment.

“S-sorry for startling you, ma’m. I was lost in my thoughts.” He stammered, and the woman’s expression softened as she chuckled.

“It’s fine. I’ve seen my fair share of men who look like they have their own little world inside their heads.” She reached a hand out, which Gilbert deliberately took and gave a firm pump.

“My name is Valga, by the way. I’m the innkeeper.” Gilbert grinned at her warmly.

“Gilbert. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” They let go of each other’s hands, and Valga resumed her task of wiping some used mugs.

“You’re a polite one, for a Nord. I’m taking you’re not from around here?” At that, Gilbert shook his head.

“No, I hail from Cyrodiil. I just came to Skyrim for a personal business of mine.” He replied, and Valga hummed in thought.

“I see. You’re a far way from home, then. Would you mind if I ask what it is you seek here? Maybe I could help you with it.” She cocked her head to the side in curiosity. Gilbert pondered for a moment before leaning over the counter.

“I’m looking for my sister. I was hoping to know if she passed through here at some point.” Valga smiled and crossed her arms at him.

“Well then, you found the right person for information. I know all my patrons like the back of my hand!” She chirped and leaned forward, resting her arms against the counter. “So, tell me. What’s her name?”

“Ervanya.” 

The moment Gilbert said that, Valga’s smile dropped, and he heard the sound of the tankard she was holding being dropped unceremoniously on the ground. The atmosphere changed dramatically in a span of a single second, and tension was hanging heavily in the air as she shifted her gaze nervously. Everything else was deathly silent.

Gilbert shifted uncomfortably on his seat as she continued to look between him and something behind him, and he honestly was too afraid to know what suddenly made her tense up like that. Eventually, he just picked up a nearby random bottle, which turned out to be Alto Wine, much to his delight.

“A-as a matter of fact sir, she just passed by here a few hours ago.” Valga stammered after he poured himself a tankard of wine, and he nearly dropped the bottle in his excitement.

“Really?! Did she say where she was heading?” His eyes twinkled brightly while he bore a bright grin. Valga returned his grin hesitantly, which he noticed but didn’t comment on.

“She was heading off to Whiterun. It’ll take an hour on horseback to get there, so you better run along now if you want to catch her.” Gleefully, he gulped down the contents of his tankard, almost choking on it when he swallowed too fast. He slammed the tankard down and started to reach into his cloak.

“Before I go, I’d like to buy some more supplies.” Valga cocked an eyebrow at him.

“O-oh? And what would you like to order?” Gilbert grinned at her and placed a small coin purse on the counter.

“I’d like to order a venison stew, and all of your apples.”

 

* * *

 

Armed with a bag full of apples, a full belly, and good spirits, he ventured onwards into the night on top of his less-than-happy steed towards Whiterun.

It took him several tries and a few apples to get Cornelius to wake up from his nap near the trees. The steed was obviously grumpy, and tried to buck him off the first chance he got, but was calmed down by his owner’s promises of a warm stable and a good night’s sleep once they arrive to their destination. Now, almost an hour has passed, and they can see the majestic figure of Dragonsreach overhead, illuminated dramatically against the light of Masser and Secunda. Gilbert let out a low whistle at the picturesque scene before them. However, his mood was dampened slightly when he remembered Valga’s uneasy expression from a while back. What made her so scared to answer his question?

Gilbert pondered for a while before shaking his head, putting aside the nagging feeling of dread that started to form in his chest and turning his attention back to the scene before him.

_Well, it wouldn’t really matter anyway. She told me her answer, and that’s all I need to know._

“There it is, Cornelius. Whiterun. I gotta admit, it’s a lot bigger than what I imagined.” Cornelius whined in reply and set himself to gallop, earning an undignified squawk from Gilbert when he almost fell.

“H-hey! Don’t just speed up like that, you stubborn oaf!” He yelled, making the steed run faster in retaliation. But as he was about to give up on making his steed listen to him, they approached a fork in the road and he gasped, pulling on Cornelius’ reins a little too harshly. The horse skidded into a stop, rearing himself up and neighing in anger, but stopped as he smelled smoke in the air. Both rider and steed looked ahead at the burning remnants of a tower, which seemed to have been split in half. Hesitantly, Gilbert hauled himself off of Cornelius, who bumped his snout unto Gilbert’s head worriedly. He stroked his horse’s nose gently and told him to stay where he was.

Gilbert walked slowly towards the broken down stairway leading into the tower. He noticed the charred bodies near the base, and he covered his mouth with his cloak to stop himself from gagging. Beside one of those bodies is a long bow and an iron sword, which Gilbert picked up after realizing that they weren’t damaged, alongside a quiver of arrows. But as he finished equipping the bow and sword, he heard the sound of a muffled groan from underneath some rubble nearby, and he rushed over, spotting the bleeding but thankfully still alive guard wearing the colours of Whiterun with half of his body still stuck underneath some loose stone.

“H-help. . . Me. . .” The soldier rasped and held a shaking hand out, which Gilbert took and pulled carefully, releasing the man from underneath the rubble as he let out a pained groan. He took a hold of the back of the soldier’s cuirass and hauled him over to the tower wall, resting his back against it gently. Gilbert took note of the man’s injured head as he removed his cloak. The soldier grunted in pain as Gilbert pressed it firmly against the man’s bleeding temple, tying it around his head. Gilbert pressed his lips together and whistled loudly, and Cornelius bounded over. He opened the bag on his saddle and took out a small health potion. He removed the cork and tilted the man’s head back to ease the liquid into the man’s mouth, and Gilbert sighed in relief as the soldier lapped up the bitter liquid eagerly.

They waited for a few minutes with bated breath for the potion to take effect, and when it did, the soldier took a hold of Gilbert’s arm in a vice grip, suddenly panicked and almost scaring him half to death.

“Citizen, it’s not safe! You have to get out of here, now.” Gilbert, startled by the urgency in his voice, motioned for Cornelius to come closer.

“Sir, you’re in a much dire state than I am, so I need you to get on my horse so he can lead you to safety.” He reached a hand out to pull him up, but was swatted away. Gilbert yelped as the soldier pulled him closer by the collar and bared his teeth at him in a weak growl, eyes wild with desperation and fear.

“You don’t understand, boy! It’s still around here somewhere! It already ate half of our men!” Ignoring the man’s aggravated shouting, he hauled the man up by his arms. Using his bigger stature, he placed the man chest first on the saddle, almost stumbling backward as the man kept thrashing wildly against him.

“DAMN IT BOY ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING—“ The two froze when a roar resounded from above, causing the earth to shake beneath them. Time itself seemed to slow down as Gilbert turned around and saw the slowly expanding silhouette of a creature flying towards them with surprising speed. Glowing yellow eyes burned into his green ones with an unspeakable rage, and only one word resonated in Gilbert’s adrenaline-driven mind as its green scales revealed itself and shone against the pale moonlight.

_Dragon._

“Kynareth save us. . . Here it comes again!” The sound of the soldier’s panicked yell and the rhythmic beating of wings snapped Gilbert out of his stupor, and with no time to think he slapped Cornelius’ flank. The horse reacted immediately and galloped away, taking the screaming soldier with him and leaving Gilbert alone to deal with the creature.

Seeing no possible way of outrunning the beast, he ran into the tower, almost tripping across the stairs as he headed to the second floor. He hid behind the walls beside a gaping hole and held his breath as the beast landed on top of the crumbling tower, shaking everything around him. He can hear it breath menacingly from above as he clumsily draw an arrow before it gave out a deep, rumbly laughter, making Gilbert’s blood freeze in horror.

**“Meyus joor. . . Hi nis iliis nol zey!”**

_By the Nine, it can talk?!_

Gilbert was too dumbfounded at the sudden realization that he didn’t notice that the creature had peeked his green, scaled head in through the entryway of the roof. He felt the gusts of hot wind as the creature sniffed him out, and it grinned, showing rows of sharp, yellowed fangs as its golden eyes landed on him.

**“Zu'u koraav hi.”**

The feeling of dread overwhelmed Gilbert, to the point where his movement was solely driven by instinct as he raised the bow while the beast opened its maw at the same time, and he released the arrow. 

It caught the back of its throat.

The dragon stumbled back, roaring in anger and giving Gilbert enough time to jump down the hole and land unsteadily on his feet before the beast spew forth a fiery breath at the area he was in before. He caught his balance and ran around, just in time to see the dragon take flight and hover beside the tower. It scanned the area wildly, searching for any signs of him, and Gilbert suddenly realized that maybe it would’ve been best if he had kept his dark cloak on him before, since his white tunic was sticking out like a sore thumb against the night despite it being covered by dirt and soot. It didn’t take long for the dragon to spot him, and Gilbert was sent running to the opposite direction when it fired a ball of flame at him.

This went on for some time, with the dragon attempting to catch him with a fireball and Gilbert dodging it in time and trying to shoot him with arrows. However, one fireball almost caught him and grazed his shoulder, causing one of his sleeves to catch on fire. He was then forced to stop and roll around on the ground to put it out. This gave the dragon the incentive to fly over to him and land directly on top of him, trapping one of Gilbert’s legs. He let out a pained yowl as he felt its full weight press down on his limb, affectively shattering the bone. He tried to stab the creature with the iron sword, but with the angle he was in and the lightheadedness seeping in quickly from the pain and blood loss, he couldn’t pierce it, and he was in a losing battle. He can only resort to attempting to weakly push it off, but to no avail. The dragon let out a cruel laugh at his pathetic display.

 **“Fax joor, nuz wah nid balaar! Your death will bring me honour.”** Gilbert couldn’t even muster the strength to react to its strange attempt to speak in their tongue nor contemplate if what it was saying is a compliment. He could slowly feel himself fade away from reality, the edges of his vision darkening as he succumb to his wounds. The pulsating pain he feels on his leg started to numb, leaving only a tingly sensation. He could only focus on the sky above with painstaking clarity that he was, indeed, going to die.

He was going to die on a land he barely even knows. He was going to die knowing that his parents are back home, wondering where their children went and grieving their lost once his charred up body is sent back to the Imperial City. He was going to die knowing that the the spring season a few months back was the last spring season he was going to experience safe within the walls of his home.

But most of all, he was going to die knowing he failed to find his sister.

He can feel the tears well up in his eyes and the familiar aching in his throat, so he closed his eyes, feeling the heat from the beast’s maw as it opens its mouth to give him one final screech. And so he waited.

And waited.

Suddenly, Gilbert heard the sound of an explosive crack, almost like thunder, except it was continuous, and the weight on his leg lifted. His eyes snapped open, but was almost blinded by the bright flashes of light coming from the what he could only assume was lightning. _A ray of lightning_ , to be exact.

He would’ve cried out in joy, if it weren’t for the fact that he is still lightheaded, and the bright light was giving him a headache, so he closed his eyes again to block it out and focused more on the enraged cries of the beast as it tumbled off. It spoke in its strange language again, but Gilbert’s attention snapped to the sound of a horse galloping at full speed towards them. When he tried to open his eyes this time, his view was obscured by a dark blurry figure of a proud steed (or mare), towering over him. He couldn’t see the rider too well. 

At this point, his senses are slowly fading away from him. Gilbert couldn’t hear the sound of the person casting the lightning anymore, nor could he feel the dampness of the grass beneath him. Unconsciousness is inevitable, he realized.

However, before his mind could pull him into a deep slumber, he felt his chest expand with breath, and he was instantly overwhelmed by the violent return of his senses, and his eyes snapped open in shock at the sudden awareness;

His chest was **_burning._**

And he screamed, writhing around in agony as his vision was filled with golden lights swirling around him. His entire body felt like it was lit on fire, sending jolts of pain every time he breaths in. But at the same time, he felt weightless. Free, even.

Almost like his soul was flying.

The burning in his chest transformed into something else entirely. He felt POWERFUL. The sudden need to release this new feeling, this _power_ , was becoming overwhelmingly hard to resist. He wanted an outlet—no, he _needed_ to let this out;

He needed to **shout.**

**_“FUS!”_ **

The recoil was instantaneous, nearly making him hit the wall as his body skidded away by the force of the shout. His body didn’t react too well to his action, and he was close to blacking out any second now. But before he could, he was faintly aware of his saviour manhandling him against the wall. Gloved hands felt around his face, and he glanced at the person’s face one last time before toppling over and succumbing to sleep.

And in the darkness of his mind, his dreams consisted of a pair of bright, blue eyes, and a distant song.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I’m not exactly sure how to pace this story, considering I only did this on whim as some sort of practice on writing character and relationship development, so I’d like to address a few things;
> 
> 1.) THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG STORY. In fact, you probably won’t see Ulfric/any of the other major characters until later on. 
> 
> 2.) The whole story is mostly in Gilbert’s point of view (for now, at least), since I’m not sure how I should approach the POV’s of Ulfric or any other in-game major characters without them sounding OOC.
> 
> 3.) Yes, in this story, there is more than one Dragonborn alive (other than Miraak of course but shhhh).
> 
> 4.) There are modded characters in here (Vilja, Inigo, ect.)


End file.
